


It's All My Fault

by KyleHowlett29



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Amputation, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Military, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyleHowlett29/pseuds/KyleHowlett29
Summary: “Lafayette.” He called, his hoarse voice did nothing to bring the man out of his daze, “Laf. Come on.” He prompted, feeling his chest well up with anxiety. “You’re scaring me.” He announced, wanting to move but his body refused him. He felt like dead weight. He managed to stretch his arm out, barely, his fingers brushing against the Frenchman’s.He snapped, his eyes screwing such as he looked away from his injured friend. Lafayette shrunk to the floor again, his hand muffling the dry sobs that raked through his body as he shook his head. Alex could only watch, tilting his head again as he stared in confusion. He didn’t understand what was so bad, he couldn’t think of what could set his friend off like this.“It is all my fault,” Lafayette mumbled, “I am so sorry, Alexander. My dear Alex, oh god.” He choked on his words and reached out to place his hand on the edge of the cot, where it should have made contact with Alex’s, but it didn’t. It fell against thin air and it caused another sob to rake through his very core. If he had only given a different command, if he had only played it safe then this wouldn’t have happened.





	It's All My Fault

“Sir!”

Washington snapped out of his dazed state at the sound of an all too familiar French voice. His eyes focused on the disgruntled soldier before him. He noticed the tears in his eyes but said nothing. He didn’t really have much of a chance.

“Lafay-”

“Is Alexander in there?!” Lafayette cut the General off, his eyes wide and bleary while his fists stayed at his sides, clenched tightly and shaking with a cocktail of emotions. His chest heaved, whether it was from the panic or running all the way to the medical tent, Washington was unsure.

George took a deep breath to steady himself, his brows pulled down in an attempt to look like the General they all expected them to be. His hands were clasped behind his back, shoulders back and chest out.

“He is, but you can’t go in there-”

“You don’t understand!” The French man blurted out in frustration, his foot almost coming forward in a stomp. His breathing quickened and his eyes flitted over to the small gap in the tent doors in a desperate attempt to get a look at his injured comrade. Washington shuffled against his will, ready to try and calm Lafayette down. The boy continued without hesitance. “I made a mistake!” He panted, “I made a mistake and Alexander got injured because of me, of my actions!” He rambles, a hand flying up to his chest to grip at his blood-stained coat. He was trembling, possibly even in a state of shock but he pressed on despite his obvious struggle to breathe. Washington reached out with his hand, unsure what to do. He had never seen the French man like this before. “If anything happens to him, it’ll be my fault!” His voice raised to a shout, breaking towards the head as his eyes screwed shut. Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he stood there in front of his general, every muscle in his body was trembling and he was breathing far too quickly to be healthy.

George stood in shock, his hand hovering in the air between them. Lafayette seemed to crumble then, despite the number of onlookers starting to gawk. The soldiers tried to act as if they were minding their own business and continuing with their work as normal but Washington saw through it easily enough. Lafayette didn’t deserve this, he didn’t need this, especially not no. The General took another deep steadying breath and finally reached out to place his hand against the French man’s arm.

“Lafayette.” He said softly, though the boy only managed a broken half sob, half wheeze. A sigh escaped the man’s mouth as he wrapped his digits around Lafayette’s arm and began to guide him towards his own tent. “Come on, son.” He prompted gently, managing to get a nod this time as they made their way to the General’s tent not too far away.

By the time they arrived at the tent, Lafayette was still shaking against Washington’s grip, his breathing just as shaky, jumpy and choked. Both of them knew what was happening, Washington had experienced enough of them during his wars and many of the young soldiers often experienced them too.

Panic attacks were a nasty business, but George had been through enough of them and helped others through enough in his lifetime to help out Lafayette.

He set the poor boy down on the cot situated against the side of his desk, his desk placed adjacently behind it. Lafayette’s body curled in on itself as he covered his face with his hand, hiding away from the world and becoming as small as he could. George sat down beside him, placing a hand firmly on his back to give him something to latch on to, to anchor himself to reality and save him from being caught up in the rushing tide of thoughts that were no doubt crashing around in his head like waves on a stormy day. He began to rub soothing circles through the thin material of the coat and spoke in a soft voice he often used when speaking to his wife’s cats.

“Lafayette, I know it may seem hard but you need to take a deep breath and try and hold it in.” He began to instruct, watching for the boy’s reaction in case he preferred to have space during a time like this.

The French let out a rather ugly sob but nodded in acknowledgement, leaning back into his General’s hand in a subconscious pursuit at physical comfort. Washington made a mental note at the new knowledge in case something like this ever happened again, though he prayed that it never would.

Lafayette took in a sharp, deep breath and managed to hold it for approximately 3 seconds before letting go in a harsh sob. George prompted him to try again, and again, encouraging him as he pulled the boy close in a half-hug, continuing to rub his back. Lafayette seemed to determined to calm down, he tried his hardest to bring his breathing back down to a normal level but it always seemed to fail. His head was too busy, too many ‘what ifs’ were buzzing around like angry bees and Washington knew that, sadly, the only cure for this type of deep panic brought about by the endangerment of someone you care for deeply could only ever heal with time.

It took possibly hours for Lafayette to finally stop crying and calm his breathing back down to what was healthy for a boy his age, leaving him with quiet hiccups that would soon begin to pass after the General handed him a small cup of water to soothe him. Lafayette was both pale and flushed at the same time, eyes bloodshot and body hunched over but no longer trembling. He seemed exhausted, panic attacks of such a manner often did bring about fatigue afterwards, but refused to get any rest until he could go see his dear Alexander. He sat with his face buried in his hands, even after Washington had moved over to his desk to begin doing some paperwork. His own mind was racing, filled with worry for Alexander and Lafayette. He felt like a father to those two boys and it pulled at his heart in ways he felt it never should be pulled. And so he focused his energy into the hand working his quill rather than giving his mind the fuel it needed to torture him in situations like these.

More hours slowly ticked by as the two men sat in silence, the only sounding filling the tent being that of the soft scratch of the quill against the parchment paper and the idle chatter of the soldiers outside. Lafayette didn’t say a single word the entire time he had been sitting on the General’s cot and Washington had decided it was best to stay quiet and let them both have the space they needed to get themselves together, collect up their jumbled thoughts and feelings into some sense of order.

But now it was getting late, the General himself was exhausted and Lafayette looked for worse then Washington felt. He had dark bags under his eyes, his hair was dishevelled and springing out of the confines of its hair tie and his eyes were still bloodshot and sore despite having stopped crying at least 4 hours ago, 5 at most.

Washington let out a sigh, his dried quill not hovering between the paper and the ink pot as he considered his next words and whether they were even worth his breath with how stubborn he had come to know the French man to be.

“Son,” He started carefully, his mind briefly flicking to an old memory of how Alexander’s response of ‘I’m not your son’ would be muttered under his breath, yet George continued to say it knowing Alex’s dislike of the common nickname. “You have to rest.” He finished, his brows furrowed as he waited for the boy to respond, even with only a shuffle.

Lafayette lifted his head and shook it simultaneously, a hand dragging down his cheeks tiredly. His arms felt heavy, his head throbbed with the need for energy and rest but he refused.

“Non.” His voice sounded weak, scratchy and raw and he sipped at the water he was given hours ago but had barely touched.

“Alex wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.” He tried to reason, straightening his back a little in preparation to argue. The doctors may not even let the poor boy see his friend for days, Washington was unsure. He had only caught a glimpse of what had happened to the poor immigrant, he knew nothing about the extent of his injuries.

“Well,” Lafayette started, voice bitter as he rested his cheek to his knuckles, staring down at his dirty-ridden fingernails as if they had become the most interesting thing in the world. “I wish I could just ask him what he wants.” He muttered, eyes downcast now. His accent lay thick over his words, his mind too lazy to try and make his pronunciation any clearer.

Washington had no response to that, his brows lay creased against his forward and his lips turned downwards into a frown. Even after years experience of leading people through wars, of dealing with the loss of soldiers and the burden of having to comfort their comrades he had no words to say to the suffering French man occupying his cot. He felt as if there was nothing to say.

“Mr Washington!” The voice shocked both men and George was surprised Lafayette managed to stay on the cot in his exhausted state. “The doctor is here!” Washington stood, feeling Lafayette’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head as he waited eagerly for some sort of news. He peaked his head outside to talk with the soldier that had come to his tent, gathering all the information he could but quietly enough that the French man couldn’t hear. When he leaned back inside he turned to look at the boy’s face. He was staring up at the General, eyes wide, lips pressed into a thin line. He just wanted to know if Alexander was alive, right now that seemed like the most important thing in the world. Not the war, not their independence, but Alex’s life.

George gave a nod and that was all it took for Lafayette to shoot up and sprint out of the doors of the tent to where Alexander had been brought for treatment. He stumbled a little, his boots slipping a tad against the dirt as he ran into the distance. George heaved a sigh and turned back to his tent, making his way over to his desk to continue with his work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alexander!” Lafayette burst through the front of the tent, shoving away the flaps that kept it closed off from the outside world as he stumbled inside. A gasp became trapped in his throat as he looked forward, seeing Alexander tucked beneath a blanket resting on a cot, a couple of candles lit to the side of him which cast ugly shadows on his sunken cheeks and dark eyes.

Alex’s head turned slowly against the pillow to face his comrade, eyes half-lidded and vision blurry with fatigue. He blinked slowly before his mind managed to catch up as to what was happening.

“Lafayette..?”

“Mon Dieu!” Lafayette cried and threw himself over to Alexander’s cot. He fell to his knees and his hands flew up to rest of Alex’s body, gripping at the sheets as he pressed his face against the other man’s stomach. His eyes screwed shut as he sniffled back more tears, shaking his head against the fabric of the sheets while Alexander watched on in a dazed state. He had lost a lot of blood and it made him dizzy and confused. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Alex!” He yelled, his knuckles turning white with the grip he had on the sheets now as if letting them go would mean Alex would somehow leave and disappear forever. “I should have told all of you to retreat!” He continued his distraught rambling, shaking his head again as he pictured everything that had happened hours ago. “But I didn’t because I was too reckless and stupid!” He could feel tears burning at his already sore eyes and willed them to go away. He had no right to cry over his own stupid decisions, it was his fault, he had put his men in danger, he-

“You are not reckless or stupid…” Alexander’s soft voice pierced through his thoughts. He felt a hand touch his own, the fingers barely curling against his skin as he lifted his head enough to see Alex’s face. “You’re just young, scrappy and hungry…” Alex continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite how run down he looked. Lafayette managed a smile of his head, his chin resting against Alex’s hip as he huffed a small laugh to himself. He wiped again his tears with the sleeve of his coat and pushed himself up, kneeling on the floor as he gathered himself together.

“What did the doctor say about your stomach-wound?” The Frenchman managed to ask, cupping his friend’s cheek gently to look him in the eye. Alex stared back, unfocused as he leaned into Lafayette’s touch.  
“I didn’t understand much,” He started, taking a deep breath which produced a grimace from the strain on his wound. His head was all over the place, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep away the pain and confusion and get back on track. “He said something about ‘the other one is much worse’?” His brows furrowed a little as he tried to think back to what happened. He knew he had been shot, but he couldn’t remember anything else happening. It was all a big messy blob and the doctor hadn’t really elaborated further; if he had then Alex must have dozed off during it.

Lafayette’s eyes widen. Alex had been hurt more than he had thought, he didn’t understand what could be worse. Or at least he didn’t want to understand. He rose up on one knee, digging his other foot into the ground as he pulled the covers away quickly to see what on earth the doctor had been talking about.

He gasped, dropping the sheets to pool around Alexander’s waist as he pressed and hand to his mouth, his eyes fixed on to the wounds. This couldn’t be happening, of all the things to happened to his dear Alexander…

Alex rose a brow, his face twisting up in confusion as he tried to wake his mind up enough to understand what was happening. Lafayette looked so scared, was it really that bad? “Laf…?” He questioned, growing worried at the sight of his friend’s face. The poor man looked close to being sick all over himself, visibly trembling as he couldn’t stop staring.

Lafayette could only look at the damage that had been done. Alexander lay there, oblivious. A bloodied bandage was wrapped around his midsection and another… A second bandage was wrapped around his right arm, or what was left of it. Alex failed to notice the lack of his own arm, now severed just above where his elbow should be.

“Lafayette.” He called, his hoarse voice did nothing to bring the man out of his daze, “Laf. Come on.” He prompted, feeling his chest well up with anxiety. “You’re scaring me.” He announced, wanting to move but his body refused him. He felt like dead weight. He managed to stretch his arm out, barely, his fingers brushing against the Frenchman’s.

He snapped, his eyes screwing such as he looked away from his injured friend. Lafayette shrunk to the floor again, his hand muffling the dry sobs that raked through his body as he shook his head. Alex could only watch, tilting his head again as he stared in confusion. He didn’t understand what was so bad, he couldn’t think of what could set his friend off like this.

“It is all my fault,” Lafayette mumbled, “I am so sorry, Alexander. My dear Alex, oh god.” He choked on his words and reached out to place his hand on the edge of the cot, where it should have made contact with Alex’s, but it didn’t. It fell against thin air and it caused another sob to rake through his very core. If he had only given a different command, if he had only played it safe then this wouldn’t have happened.

Alex breathed out softly, almost a huff as he went to reach out with his right arm to try and console his friend. His brows knitted together when nothing happened and he tried to reach out again. He realised then that he couldn’t feel anything, his right arm felt numb.  
He tore his gaze away from his crying comrade, even in his exhausted state of mind he still managed to piece together a puzzle as obvious as this. He looked down, his brown eyes staring at the empty space on the cot where his arm should be. He couldn’t angle his gaze up high enough to see where his arm had been severed and at that moment he realised he didn’t want to. He swallowed, trying to soothe his dry throat as he realised what had upset Lafayette so much. He felt too worn down to freak out over, though his mind was trying to scream at him it felt distant.

“Lafayette.” He called and looked back over at his friend. He wished he could reach out and hold him, comfort him. This wasn’t something Lafayette should ever have that weighing down on his shoulders, he was too young, too good for this to be a burden on his mind.

There was no responsive. It was as if Alex didn’t exist. He sighed and blinked again to wake himself up, moving his left arm up a little to grip the side of his makeshift bed. He pushed, holding his breath as he felt his stomach flare up angrily with a burning pain. He gritted his teeth and continued to push himself up in an attempt to sit up, but with how weak his body was and the lack of support to his right side he wasn’t getting far.

A grunt alerted Lafayette if something going on and he quickly looked up to see Alexander struggling to move. He was shaking with exertion and he hadn’t even made it a quarter of the way up right yet. Lafayette lunged forward in a panic, not wanting his idiot of a friend to hurt himself. He lowered Alex back down against the pillow, listening to the staggered breath he let out at his muscles gave up on him. The French man sighed a little in relief once he realised his friend was okay, at least as okay as he could be, and went to step back, thinking that logically Alexander wouldn’t want him anywhere near him.

Alex reached out, wrapping his fingers firmly around Lafayette’s wrist. His grip was anything but strong, yet Lafayette found himself unable to pull back. Instead, he stared, wide-eyed as he struggled with the concept that maybe his friend didn’t hate him because of this. Alex tugged gently, urging his friend to sit down again. Lafayette complied to the silent request lowered to his knees slowly, feeling his comrade’s fingers slip from his wrist and fall instead to rest against his own hand. Their fingers curled into each other, the angle a little awkward by neither man seemed too bothered by it.

Lafayette kept his gaze to the ground, reaching with his unoccupied hand to pull the blanket over the half-naked man, figuring he would be rather cold. It was night time or rather early morning, and the air was chilly. The candles gave off little heat.

The two soldiers sat in silence. Alex couldn’t stop watching the French man still holding his hand, now feeling even more exhausted than before. He let his eyes slip shut after a moment and he felt Lafayette shuffled on the dirt floor. A moment of panic washed over him as he thought that maybe he was going to leave, but he quickly calmed back down as he realised that the other man was only getting himself more comfortable. A sign that meant he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. Alex felt the other’s head press into the cot against his side, nuzzling against his hip as he adjusted their hands. He untangled their fingers, instead wrapping his own around Alex’s hand and holding it firmly. He knew he would most likely fall asleep like this, by Alex’s side and watching over him so that nothing could happen while he was gone. He let out a tired sigh, suddenly feeling all of his hours of worry and anxiety crash against him. Alex shuffled barely, turning more towards his side to be able to curl around Lafayette the best he could without irritating his wounds. Had his arm still be there he would have quite happily carded his fingers through those dark curly stands.

They were both beginning to drift off again, their hands never moving away from each other.

Lafayette felt the world begin to fade away and he was ready to let the darkness consume him. But just before it did, he heard a soft whisper from above him. One he would cling to through his dreamless sleep.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

**Author's Note:**

> I took the idea from a comic drawn by @sparkskun on Instagram, I'm hoping to add a second chapter at a later day which will be the aftermath of Alexander's injuries once the war is over which will contain some more defined Lafayette/Alexander content.


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